


Stairway to Heaven

by SophisticatedCat



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Human, Bookstore Owner Castiel, Castiel in Dresses, Castiel in Makeup, Gen, Genderfluid Castiel, Genderfluid Character, Nonbinary Character, Omaha, Other, Slow Burn, Trans Dean Winchester, Trans Male Character, more tags to come as I update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-05-08 20:46:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14701965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophisticatedCat/pseuds/SophisticatedCat
Summary: Dean Winchester happens to explore a new and used bookstore.He finds comfort among the stacks and with the owner of the store Castiel (and Castiel's cat, Gabriel).A story that explores happenstance, the subtleties of meeting somebody new, and a romance that blossoms among the books.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note that the character's experiences with their own gender identities and dysphoria are based on my own experience. This is not intended to be a guide on dysphoria, gender identity, nor transness. 
> 
> People and their experiences are diverse and nuanced. 
> 
> I will post biweekly for as long as I have ideas in this universe. I intend for the chapters to be chronological.
> 
> That being said, please send me ideas and prompts for more stories!

At first, the window-fronted dark building blended perfectly in with the identical shops on either side of it. Rows of brick buildings line the street in this part of town, and little restaurants and shops fill said buildings. Passing by full windows every day is just part of the walk. That is probably how Dean managed to walk this route regularly and not notice the small bookshop. The shop is nestled between a boutique and a furniture reclamation store. For some reason, on a miscellaneous Tuesday, as Dean walks by with his morning coffee, the small bookstore catches his eye for the first time. A gold-leaf sign above the door reads ‘Stairway to Heaven books’. _What a cheesy name_ Dean thinks. With a snort and a sip of joe, Dean walks on by, as he has every day for weeks.

One grey foggy morning, the shop catches Dean’s eye again. It’s been at least a week since he first read that corny-ass shop name. On his walk home from the café, the light from the shop seems garish compared to the dark grey work around it. Soft yellow light pours from the windows into the world, giving the shop the illusion of being aglow. Dean can't help but slow his stride and take a longer look inside.The mismatched chairs spread throughout the shop and dark wooden shelves holding an array of titles remind Dean of Bobby’s library. Of home. 

A simple, almost quiet bell jingles as Dean pushes open the door. The weather has kept the town quiet today, so it’s no surprise that there are apparently no other customers. Soft instrumental music plays from unseen speakers. It's not the usually cringey covers of pop-songs that Dean has come to expect from coffee shops and bookstores. Rather, this music is a calming mix of classical composition and electronic sounds. It's actually kind of nice and falls gently into the background. The bitter smell of aged paper hits Dean’s in a warm wave just like Bobby's library. The subtler scent of incense lurks beneath the scent of the pages, reminding Dean that this isn't home, this place is its own.

”Welcome to Stairway to Heaven.” The grumbling voice comes from behind the L-shaped dark-wash wood counter to the left of Dean. 

Before Dean can reply to the mess of dark hair poking up from behind the counter, something nudges gently against his right shin. Dean looks down to notice the fluffiest, whitest cat he’s ever seen winding around his legs. The feline has an air of mischief about it. 

”Hi, cat,” he offers, “I’d pet you but I’m allergic. Didn’t take my meds.”

”Gabriel.” The stranger calls. The stranger's voice is stern, but not loud nor aggressive. The cat quickly turns from Dean and trots around the far side of the counter to greet its caller. The stranger leans down to pick up the cat before standing up.

”Sorry about him.” the stranger apologizes to Dean. Now that they’re standing, Dean can get a better look at their sharp jaw and anomaly of a mouth. Pale but full lips contrast with the hint of dark stubble on their cheeks. They’re wearing simply winged, black eyeliner around hooded blue eyes. Their grey button-up shirt has small bees printed on the fabric.

”Looking for anything special or just browsing?” the stranger askes politely as they scratch under Gabriel’s chin. 

”Just browsing,” Dean answers. “Y’know the shelves and the smell of books. This place reminds me of Bobby’s house. He-Bobby- he raised us.” 

Dean stops prematurely, aware that he’s started ranting. He realizes that his blunt fingernails are scraping nervously at the back of his neck. He forces his hand down to his side. Despite Dean’s inward kicking of himself, the stranger smiles politely. Even though they work in retail, Dean can’t help but feel the smile is genuine. 

”New books are at the front. Used are in the back. Let me know if you need anything.” the stranger offers before sitting down in their chair. Gabriel, apparently bored with affection, wriggles loose of the stranger’s grip and quickly jumps on top of the counter to groom himself.

Dean is drawn to the cracked spines and array of colors on the ‘Used’ shelves that fill the back quarter of the shop. Dean browses for a few minutes in comfortable silence before he glances back toward his companion. The stranger is still sitting behind the counter, reading a soft-cover book held in their strong hands. Gabriel has curled up on the wooden countertop for a nap.

Dean studies the well-worn spines of some Vonnegut works. A couple of the titles are among the few books he’s started and finished. Others are strangers to him. Deciding to give one of his favorites from high school another go, he picks up a copy of Slaughterhouse Five. 

Dean’s footsteps creak on the wooden floor as he approaches the counter. He clears his throat, which makes the stranger flinch and look up at him from their book. Their eyes immediately fall on the book in Dean’s hands.

”Are you ready to check out?” the stranger asks. 

A flirtation involving ‘chcecking out’ plays in Dean’s mind for a split second before he simply opts for a simple “yes” in reply.

The stranger sets to work, using an iPad mounted on a stand to ring up Dean’s purchase. 

”What are some of your recommendations- for books?” Dean asks bluntly.

”That depends. What do you like?” the stranger asks. Their tone is flat and difficult for Dean to read.

The few novels I’ve read and like are Vonnegut and Stephen King. I also learned an interest in mythology from my guardian and brother.”

The corners of the stranger’s pale mouth pull up in the smallest hint of a smile. “Have you ever read anything by Neil Gaiman?”

Dean shakes his head.

”He’s fairly accessible and has a pretty diverse array of works. I recommend American Gods if you like mythology and truly unique Gothic Americana. I’ve got to warn you, it’s a long read.”

”What’s it about?” Dean asks. A title like American Gods is equally impressive and opaque. The stranger pauses their work on the iPad to answer Dean’s question.

”It’s the good old-fashioned American road trip with the added bonus of gods in conflict. In short: if you worship a deity or a concept, like technology, it manifests into a being with wants and needs. As faith has changed in America, the old gods are withering away while so-called ‘new gods’ take their place.” The stranger’s eyes never leave Dean’s as they explain. Dean’s not entirely sure they even blink. Freaky.

”Wow.” Is all Dean can manage.

The stranger ducks their head for an embarrassed moment before meeting Dean’s eyes again, “Sorry, it’s a unique text and my explanation probably made it more confusing than enticing.”

”It sounds interesting enough. Maybe I’ll check it out next time I’m in.”

With that same barely-there smile that Dean has decided is endearing, the stranger reads Dean his total. 

Dean puts some cash on the counter and starts fiddling with things on the counter to fill the silence as the stranger counts his change. There’s not much on the counter except for a flat incense burner sprinkled with long-cold ashes, and a small business card holder. Dean picks up one of the business cards. It’s black with gold text: “Stairway to Heaven bookstore. Owner: Castiel Milton. (404) 248-7182

”Are you Castiel?”

”Yes I am,” the stranger counts Dean’s change back.

”That’s a unique name,” Dean continues, immediately kicking himself for his incessant talking. _They probably think I hate their name or something_ he worries. 

Those focussed eyes look into his again as the stranger answers, “I’m named after an angel.”

”Intense,” is all Dean can say in reply. 

The stranger smiles their broadest smile yet at that. 

”Thank you. Now I feel it’s only appropriate I learn your name.”

”Dean. Dean Winchester.” Dean holds his hand out to shake Castiel’s.

Strong fingers wrap around Dean’s in a polite handshake. “It’s nice to meet you, Dean.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a no good very anxious day and finds himself at the bookshop.

Dean knew from the moment he first slid gracelessly into consciousness that it was an off-day.

Instead of warm sun peeking through the blinds to wake him, the outside world was grey and rainy. Late spring had made the usually sunny days rainy. Storms swelled at night, and the hot air perpetually felt thick with moisture. Everything about the waking world is lacking the energy that Dean has come to expect from his mornings.

Dean thanks a past version of himself that binded with tape yesterday. Getting out of bed seems feasible without the obstacle of binding getting in between him and the start of his day. He slides out of bed, wincing as his bare feet make contact with the cold wood floors of his apartment. He lives in an old building, a grand brick thing that has four small apartments in it. He didn't move into a one-bedroom after Sam moved. He likes the idea of having a spare room for guests or when Sam visits over his school-breaks. Dean realizes in his core that someday Sam will move out and never move back in with Dean, but he shoves those thoughts away as quickly as they can come up.

It briefly occurs to Dean that his off-days seem more frequent now. Or perhaps he just can’t get out of the fog as easily. He wonders for a moment if it has to do with Sam moving to California. He quickly pushes those thoughts away. He’s proud of his little brother, and wouldn’t want him to regret moving for the world. 

Even if the apartment does seem too quiet without his huge brother stomping around, listening to terrible music, and yammering on about whatever nerd-shit he's into at the moment.

Dean has barely socialized in months. The rhythm of his life changed with Sam and his other good friend Jess leaving for school. He's yet to establish a new rhythm in the absence of his closest friends. 

Dean finally dresses and heads out into the rainy world. 

The no good, very bad day persists. His favorite café is out of pastries, so he opts for a black coffee alone, aware that coffee in his otherwise empty stomach won't do anything to help his anxiety levels. Instead of walking the couple blocks to the shop, he drives his Baby, hoping to hell that no drivers are particularly careless in the pouring rain. There’s a weight inside Dean like something is out of place or wrong, but he can’t exactly pinpoint what it is.

Work is a monotonous series of tune-ups, nothing eventful to pull him out of his funk. Bobby doesn’t seem particularly chatty today. Usually, he is all-too-aware of when Dean is having a bad day and quick to start a conversation about life or feelings or whatever. However, Dean isn’t sure that he can handle a conversation about feelings right now. The uncomfortable buzzing in his chest and under his skin persists despite Dean’s efforts to distract himself from it.

It’s not until the drive home after the seemingly-endless shift that Dean decides to make a stop on the way.

The warm, welcoming smell of books and incense immediately calm Dean’s frayed nerves. He doesn’t realize how much tension is in his shoulders until it falls away.

Once again Dean has to shoo Gabriel away. He didn’t plan to be around any felines today and didn’t take his allergy meds. Castiel is shelving an armful of used books, their back to Dean. When Dean starts shooing away the cat, they turn and flash Dean a small but friendly smile. Today Castiel is wearing a tight knit dress. Its soft black fabric stretches over Castiel’s body from wrist to the base of their throat, then down to their mid-calf. Fluffy grey socks stick up out of Chelsea boots. Castiel’s brows seem to be filled in and shaped with dark makeup, otherwise, they wear no makeup. The fingernails sport deep-blue polish. The solid black dress makes them look long and lean and fit. Graceful in their movements that seems almost non-human.

”Hello, Dean.” Their low voice echoes slightly in the empty store. _Almost-empty_ , Dean notices a young blonde hipster type sipping from a mug and reading in one of the well-worn leather chairs. The hipster shoots Dean a glare as he walks past.

Dean settles into the chair nearest Castiel. He feels exposed and slightly awkward without a book or phone or even a mug in his hands. Yet there is something quiet and comforting about the space. Gabriel gives up on Dean and starts winding around Castiel’s legs. He rubs his fluffy face against Castiel’s boots, looking at Dean as if to make him jealous.

Castiel finishes up their shelving and turns to address their customer. Dean’s throat goes dry when he sees the tiny obvious buds that are on either side of Castiel’s nipples. Castiel has their nipples pierced, and the tight dress does nothing to hide the jewelry. Dean has always had a slight thing for body modification, and he feels a light blush creep up the tips of his ears.

”Want a cup of tea?” Castiel’s voice distracts Dean from Castiel’s chest, “I have a kettle and some mugs behind the counter.”

”I’ve always been more of a coffee guy myself.” Dean responds. The flirtatiousness in his own voice surprising him.

The corner of Castiel’s usually-neutral mouth twitches. They strut to the counter. They reach behind it, just out of sight, and retrieve a miniature glass coffee-pot and empty it into two mugs. Castiel hands one to Dean and wraps their tanned fingers around the other. Dean’s mug bears the logo of an insurance company. Castiel’s is a generic office mug from the ‘80s with a tacky rainbow printed around the middle. 

Castiel sits in another chair opposite Dean. The chair’s upholstery is an ugly burgundy with delicate flowers printed on it. Gabriel hops onto Castiel’s lap and curls into a purring lump. Castiel seems content to sip their coffee, watching Dean with a careful gaze. Dean should feel scrutinized or insecure, but there is something comforting about gentle blue eyes watching him without apparent judgment.

Finally the silence gets to Dean. He’s always been more of a talker than a listener, “I like your dress.”

Castiel looks down at themself. Their head tilts slightly as they analyze their own attire.

”Thank you,” they respond with a slight smile playing at the corners of their eyes. 

Dean enjoys the comfortable silence for a few moments. A question has been on his mind since he first laid eyes on Castiel. Ironically, he’s afraid to ask a very necessary question. He’s afraid to offend...

”What are your pronouns?” The question flies out before Dean can really think. Why does he always think before he speaks?

Castiel pulls the mug away from their lips. Dean can’t read their face, can’t tell if he’s really fucked himself over by blurting that out.

”It depends.” Castiel replies simply.

”On?” Dean asks. He takes another drink to prevent his mouth from doing anything stupid before his brain can catch up.

”The day, my mood. Usually, I use ‘they and them’, but sometimes I feel like a ‘he’ or a ‘she’. I find neopronouns interesting, but I’m afraid I’m too old a soul to really feel comfortable using them to refer to myself.

Dean nods in reply. Castiel’s answer seemed thorough in a way that is made possible by rehearsal. Yet, they don’t seem offended or miffed in any way by Dean’s inquiries. 

Dean continues “What are your pronouns today?”

Castiel smiles, that warm small smile that makes Dean’s heart beat a little bit faster, “They/them.”

”Ok” Dean replies.

”I’ll try to tell you when my pronouns fluctuate, but a general rule of thumb for me is the more neutral-gendered the language the better.” Castiel elaborates.

”Cool,” Dean replies, taking another quick sip of coffee. “Um. I use he and him pronouns. Er- all the time.”

”Ok,” Castiel replies in their low, gravelly, genuine voice. 

Dean wonders if he's getting better at reading Castiel's reactions, or if he's imagining the warmth that seems to spread from their very core.

Dean thinks about his no-good day. On the loneliness, he's felt in this city since his brother left. 

"Cas, you ever check out the foodtrucks in Benson?"

Castiel tilts their head to the side at the question, like a confused and thinking puppy.

"No, I haven't."

"Wanna check them out sometime?" Dean asks.

Castiel replies with their widest smile Dean's seen to date and a simple "yes". 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this chapter is purely filler *shrugs*. 
> 
> I plan on having the next chapter from Cas' point of view!
> 
> Binding with K tape is the SHIT y'all. (google it)
> 
> I'm stretching the truth on the food truck event in Benson.


	3. Chapter 3

The late spring sun rises early in Nebraska. The hills and old trees that surround the building do little to keep the 6AM sunrise out of the apartment. 

Castiel manages to roll around in a state of half-sleep for an hour or so before Gabriel takes it upon himself to knead on Castiel’s naked back, claws out and relentless. 

Castiel grumbles into their pillow. The sun has heated up their bedding to the point of discomfort. They become acutely aware of the pressure of their body laying on their chest. Another grumble escapes their throat. _he him_ Castiel tests the words in his mind. No discomfort stirs at the thought of using such pronouns today. 

Usually, it’s not that easy. Castiel’s pronouns change sometimes by the hour and seldom correlate at all with his presentation. Clad in skirts and heavy makeup he feels like a beautiful man, and in jeans and simpler attire, he feels like a beautiful woman. Often he resides somewhere both inside and outside those definitions simultaneously. Sometimes it’s tedious when people refuse to accept that a person can exist outside clear and normative definitions of man and woman. Over the years, however, Castiel has found his identity to be liberating and enjoyed deciding to just wear and present in whatever way brought him confidence and peace. 

Gabriel has graduated from kneading his owner to whining in long-high pitched meows. Castiel finally caves, throwing the sheets off his tired body, and trots into the kitchen to feed Gabriel and pour a cup of coffee for himself. 

7 AM is too early for Castiel, especially on a Thursday, his day off. Usually, he’ll spend his Thursday downstairs in the bookstore, stocking shelves and tidying up. He’ll order some new books, and do an inventory of the boxes of used books waiting to be shelved and purchased by their next owners. 

The thought of having to work brings Castiel an exhausted feeling of dread. He loves his job, and the bookstore, but a true day off is too enticing to ruin with work 

Castiel finishes his coffee and returns to his room to put on some athletic shorts and a t-shirt. He starts his day with a jog around the neighborhood and returns to his apartment to do some stretching and simple strength training. Push-ups, crunches, lunges, and planks. Enough to keep him in shape, but not enough to wear his body out. 

Sweaty and feeling less frustrated, Castiel checks his phone. He isn’t great at technology and will neglect his cellphone for days on end, much to the frustration of his siblings. 

A new message from Dean, a simple good morning, brings a smile to Castiel’s face. 

Castiel and Dean had exchanged numbers just under a week ago, and have been in communication since. Dean had even called Castiel over the weekend to chat (and sit in comfortable silence) for hours. Castiel had always existed in relative isolation, so having regular communication with a friend (who wasn’t a sibling) was…surprisingly nice. 

They hadn’t seen each other since then. Dean has been busy helping his younger brother move back home for the summer. 

Castiel remembers that today is Thursday, and the pair has decided to visit the foodtruck rally in Benson that evening. Dean promised him amazing tacos and beer. 

Castiel takes a long shower, relishing the beats of water over his exercise-warmed skin. He takes time to shave his legs and chest, loving the fresh feeling of smooth skin. 

Dressed in simple black jeans and a loose-knit blue sweater, castiel trods, barefoot, down to the store to work on inventory and dusting the shelves. Gabriel assists by chasing some dust-bunnies as they fly off the shelves in the swiffer’s wake. 

Before Castiel knows it, it’s 6pm and he’s putting on Chelsea boots and walking the few blocks to the foodtruck rally. He texts Dean that he’ll be waiting outside a popular and easy-to-spot burrito and tequila restaurant. 

The streets are bustling with people. The bitter smell of cigarettes wafts past Castiel. Children chatter from strollers and their parent’s sides, and lines of people congregate in front of the half a dozen foodtrucks that line either side of the street perpendicular to where Castiel waits. 

“Hey, Cas.” Dean’s low voice draws Castiel back to himself, away from his people watching. Dean is wearing simple jeans, boots, and a light henley shirt. Castiel thinks he looks effortlessly handsome.

“Hello, Dean.” he returns politely. “He/him pronouns for now,” he adds. 

Dean simply smiles and gestures for Castiel to cross the street toward the trucks. 

They wait in line for awhile. Castiel is comfortable in the silence but asks how having Sam back is, partially because of social convention, and partially because he likes listening to Dean talk. 

Dean’s face lights up as he talks about his brother’s “hippy” eating habits and affinity for jogging. 

Castiel recommends a couple of local restaurants that will appease both Sam’s eating habits and Dean’s palette. Dean smiles and thanks Castiel for his expert recommendation. Castiel feels like he’s glowing at even that small praise. 

Finally the pair order their food. Dean gets a couple of tacos. Castiel opts for a quesadilla. The each get a beer from the drink tent and pull up seats at one of the long metal tables set up on the street. 

“How’d you wind up in Omaha?” Dean asks. 

Castiel politely swallows his bite of quesadilla before answering, “I went to school in Chicago and had nowhere else to go after I graduated. My sister, Anna, was living in the area. I got a job at the local bookstore and when the previous owner retired a year ago he sold me the stock at a super low cost. He owns the building too and barely charges me rent.” 

“I figured.” Castiel must look puzzled at Dean’s response because Dean explains, “Most people wind up here by accident or they spent their whole lives here. You honestly seem too interesting for Omaha.” 

“Don’t put your city down like that. It’s an interesting place and has become my home.” Castiel tells Dean. 

Castiel’s voice is firm but gentle. Soft but far from delicate. 

Dean remains silent for a moment. Castiel worries that he overreached or hurt Dean in some way. After the moment’s silence, Dean smiles at his date. His smile is warm and Castiel can feel its heat penetrate to his very core, warming his insides. 

“It’s only been my city since I was 16,” Dean explains, “but it has become a good home for Sam and I.” 

Dean reveals little about his past. Castiel and Dean at least have this in common. Castiel simply doesn’t want to linger on a part of himself that causes him discomfort, but he has the feeling that Dean is running from something. He doesn't pry, though, just smiles back and digs into his dinner. 

**Author's Note:**

> Castiel's entire wardrobe is shamelessly made up of some of my favorite outfits. 
> 
> Spot The Crow reference and I'll love you forever. 
> 
> This is my first SPN fic in...probably....5 years. Wow.


End file.
